


Across the Universe

by vatrixsta



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatrixsta/pseuds/vatrixsta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow does a spell. It goes wrong. Buffy has a very strange morning. Second verse same as the first...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in BtVS S4/AtS S1 with, I believe, the first handful of season 5/2 episodes aired. To the best of my recollection.

~  
Words are flying out like endless rain into a paper cup,  
They slither while they pass, they slip away across the  
universe.  
~

\--Title Song--

"Willow, are you sure--"

"I'm not sure of anything, Tara. All I know is that Buffy  
isn't happy, Riley's acting weird, and the world needs the  
slayer to be okay. Okay?"

"Okay," Tara said simply, perfect trust coloring her tone.

It was not lost on Willow, and the two exchanged secret  
smiles.

"To begin, we have to sprinkle the crushed -- no, we have to  
light the Borean sage, then sprinkle the crushed . . . wait.  
No. That's right. I'm right. I think."

"Willow . . . are we doing a Draconian Time spell?"

Bobbing her head, a silly grin slipped across the redhead's  
face. "Yeah. But we're making it be all mingly with the  
Lothanian Memory spell."

"And we're doing this because . . ."

"Well, I'm sure Buffy will be much happier a year from now."  
Tara raised an eyebrow and Willow frowned slightly. "She  
will!" Willow's shoulders rolled a little as she tried to  
avoid Tara's scrutiny. "She has to be," she added in a small  
voice.

"Even if she =is= happier a year from now--"

"Don't you see?" Willow asked, her melancholy disappearing  
as excitement bubbled up inside. "By combining the two  
spells, Buffy's dreams tonight will be filled with all the  
happiness she'll feel in the future . . ."

"In essence, giving her subconscious a peek into what's  
ahead for her . . ."

"And hopefully pulling her out of her doldrums. I bet if she  
understands whatever Riley's going through on some level,  
it'll help her deal."

"You're the best person I've ever known." Tara placed a hand  
over Willow's, entwining their fingers in preparation for  
the connection they would form for the spell.

"I just hope it works."

~  
Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting through my open  
mind,  
Possessing and caressing me.  
~

Side B -- CD Quality Sound

Warmth. Contradictory coolness. Gentle. Commanding.  
Purposeful gliding over every smooth inch of skin exposed.

Buffy felt a sleepy smile spread across her face. The night  
before, Riley had told her he'd have to leave early to pick  
up the fixings for tonight's festivities. That boy had the  
most toe-curling-worthy ways of saying goodbye.

Sleep-muddled though her mind was, Buffy still felt  
something off about the way Riley's hands were moving over  
her body. He was a wonderful lover, very attentive, but  
always hesitant, always silently asking her if he was doing  
it right, if he was pleasing her. The man she'd been seeing  
for the last year and a half was one of the few who could  
get away with that sort of behavior without looking like a  
loser.

Earnest and simple, Riley was like no one else. Sweetness  
practically oozed from his every pore, and he loved Buffy  
with an uncompromising, unconditional sincerity that --  
every once in awhile -- managed to leave her breathless.

When she was with him, Buffy felt safe. Not safe in the  
sense that she knew nothing bad could happen -- she was The  
Slayer (capital letters, cue imposing music) -- the one girl  
in all the world with the strength and skill to kill the  
vampires (and other assorted, sundry demons, worshippers,  
and hellspawn that came her way).

No, Riley gave her something different -- he made her feel  
safe the way a normal girl would. For a few brief moments in  
each day, Buffy was able to forget about her sacred duty and  
be one half of a couple whose biggest concern was where to  
have dinner, and whether they should head to the beach with  
the gang on the weekend.

In a nutshell, Buffy's life was as perfect as possible given  
the extenuating circumstances. If only she could love Riley,  
her heart reminded her as the last vestiges of sleepy  
contentment left her. He was so loveable, it should have  
been the easiest thing in the world. Would have been, had  
she not fallen in love when she was sixteen. Could still be,  
if she wasn't the type of girl to love once, totally and  
forever.

A moan left her mouth as her legs came up to wrap around the  
body that fit so perfectly above hers. He was already inside  
her, moving gently, then with more purpose as he felt her  
body come alive at his touch.

And alive she most certainly was. Her blood was humming, her  
skin super-sensitive this morning. His fingertips skimmed  
over her ribcage, her hip, and she hissed softly every time  
his skin made contact with hers. Riley had never woken her  
this way before, and she made a mental note to beg him to do  
it again, as often as possible as she sunk both her hands  
into his hair, bringing his mouth to hers for a kiss.

Funny, how it was his kiss she noticed first. There had been  
other signs, of course, but she'd been able to dismiss them.  
Alive and radiant, her body felt like it was being burned  
from the inside out. Sex with Riley was fun. But this  
morning, his touch had felt masterful and worshipful at the  
same time, something he'd never managed before.

His kiss, though -- there was no denying that kiss.

With more than a little trepidation, Buffy opened her eyes.

And found her ex demon lover who was =supposed= to be in  
L.A. staring back at her.

~  
Jai Guru De Va Om  
Nothing's gonna change my world  
Nothing's gonna change my world.  
~

Side A -- Scratched Record

It had been the strangest day from the moment he opened his  
eyes.

Riley Finn was not your average corn-fed boy. His illusions  
about the world had been shattered the moment Maggie Walsh  
turned out to be some twisted Dr. Frankenstein incarnate.  
Had it not been for Buffy, Riley was sure he would have lost  
his mind -- maybe his life -- during that terrible time.

But she'd pulled him out of that dark hole. With her by his  
side, he felt invincible, even when it became painfully  
obvious that, of the two of them, she was most impervious to  
damage. It didn't matter to him, really, because as long as  
he had her, the world didn't seem as scary.

That she was the slayer, capable of saving the world without  
breaking a nail, only added to his sense of security. He  
still wanted to protect her. He desperately wanted to be her  
big strong man, the guy that stood up for his girlfriend and  
made her feel safe.

Maybe that's what caused it to happen.

Riley awoke to Buffy, her face pressed into the crook of his  
neck, as she slept contentedly. He'd taken a moment to  
admire the view: her nose crinkled up in the most adorable  
manner, her tiny hand curled up on top of his chest. He  
couldn't resist the urge to press a kiss to her forehead,  
his fingers moving to comb a piece of her long blonde hair  
back from her eyes.

The movement woke her, and she blinked up at him, an  
automatic smile curving her lips as she tried to wake all  
the way up.

It was always a treat watching Buffy wake up. Sleep was one  
of her favorite things, and it took her a few moments to  
become fully conscious. So he leaned in to kiss the tip of  
her nose, catching her unaware.

"It's Thursday, sweetie. How 'bout you let your big, strong  
man fetch you breakfast before tonight?"

Her eyes had begun to narrow before he'd finished speaking,  
and he wondered if maybe she didn't realize he was teasing.  
In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd think she was  
starting to panic.

"Buffy?"

"Riley?" Her voice indicated she'd seen a ghost. Or maybe  
woken up only to find her dream was reality and reality was  
the nightmare.

"What's wrong?"

Her laugh, when it came, was a bit unstable. "Good  
question," she muttered, edging her way toward the end of  
his bed, the sheet clutched tightly around her. He barely  
managed to snag a pillow to save his own dignity. Somehow,  
he didn't think this was going to be a conversation he  
wanted to be naked for.

As it turned out, there wasn't much of a conversation at  
all.

Faster than he'd ever seen her move, Buffy threw on the  
flimsy sundress she'd worn the day before, stuffed her  
sandals underneath her arm, and bolted out the door. All  
without saying so much as 'Bye' or 'Sorry I'm totally  
freaking out.'

Now, Riley was heading for Giles' place, and hoping Buffy's  
odd behavior had nothing to do with the hellmouth.

Though, living in Sunnydale, he was almost certain that it  
did.

~  
Images of broken light which dance before me like a million  
eyes,  
That call me on and on across the universe,  
~

Side B -- Turn up the Bass

"Angel."

It was supposed to come out questioning, but he'd lowered  
his mouth to her neck and started rhythmically sucking, so  
it came out as more of a moan.

The way Buffy saw it, she had two options here. One, she  
could push him off her and demand to know what the hell he  
thought he was doing in her bed. Of course, if she did that,  
he'd go away, and she really, really wanted him to stay  
where he was.

Option two involved pressing her neck to his mouth and lots  
of arching, and since she was already doing that, she  
figured she'd made her choice.

Every thought in her head dissipated into a fine mist of  
confusion and pleasure as he tugged her legs up higher  
towards his chest, bending them at the knee so he could sink  
into her even deeper. Her upper body was pressed against the  
headboard, his head between her breasts, nipping and sucking  
at every patch of skin he found. His huge hands cupped the  
cheeks of her ass, helping to pump her hips against his.

A sharp cry left her mouth, and he swallowed it with his  
kiss.

"Shh," he murmured against her lips.

Why he'd want her to be quiet, she didn't know, but at the  
moment she would have done anything he asked of her. When he  
moved one of his hands between their bodies, his thumb  
finding her clit, she bit down on her lower lip so hard she  
drew blood. Angel rescued the plump piece of flesh between  
her teeth and sucked it into his own mouth, his nostrils  
flaring at the taste of her blood, his eyes nearly glowing  
gold.

His mouth came down hard on hers, his tongue sweeping  
between her lips without asking permission, taking her in a  
way she'd always dreamed he would. It was then that the  
reality of the situation hit home. Angel kissing her, loving  
her, =making love= to her the way she'd dreamed of since  
before the first time. She came with a low, keening growl he  
drank down as he found his own release.

The next few moments were filled with panting -- hers -- and  
contented silence -- his.

While a part of her knew this was wrong, the other part,  
sated and happy, didn't care. Buffy's fingers trailed up and  
down his back, so lightly he shivered at her touch. His  
mouth was buried near her ear, the rest of his face in her  
hair fanned out on the pillow. Tongue and teeth began to  
gently play with her lobe, his own fingers idly tracing  
patterns along her sides.

"Morning, Sunshine," he whispered against the side of her  
face, his lips brushing gentle, lingering kisses along her  
hairline.

Buffy was spared from replying by an ear-splitting howl. She  
was shocked to find Angel grinning. "Right on time," she  
thought he mumbled as he sprung out of bed, unabashedly nude  
as he padded out of the room.

I'd totally freak out right now, she thought, if my body  
didn't feel completely boneless.

Instead, she took a moment to look around the room. It  
wasn't a place she recognized. The sole window --  
which, she noted, was in no way positioned near the bed --  
was covered in heavy black drapes, similar to the ones that  
hung at the old mansion on Crawford street. So the room was  
Angel Friendly.

The sheets on the bed were silk, deep green with a matching  
down comforter. Idly, she smoothed her hand over the cool  
material, wondering if she'd missed something majorly  
important. She was afraid she might have lost her mind.

When Angel stepped back into the room, a sniffling baby in  
his arms, she was sure of it.

~  
Thoughts meander like a restless wind  
Inside a letter box they  
Tumble blindly as they make their way  
Across the universe  
~

Side A -- Three Minute Bridge

People out and about in Sunnydale thought it an odd sight,  
the young blonde girl stomping down the street, barefoot  
when she had a perfectly good pair of sandals under her arm,  
muttering strange things, like "hellmouth" and "bad dream"  
and "but I never took acid, not once, not even when Oz's  
band had their 'special' Halloween candy."

"Stupid hellmouthy evil always messing up my life," Buffy  
muttered, oblivious to the stares she was drawing.

Her anger was necessary to her survival. It kept her from  
thinking about things that would cause her to break down  
sobbing in the middle of the street. She didn't allow  
herself to think of Des and Angel . . . It was her duty to  
protect them! Granted, he was a grown vampire and could take  
care of himself and Des, but that didn't mean she wasn't  
supposed to protect him. It was her job to protect =all=  
innocent beings, and, she thought ruefully as a mental image  
of Spike popped into her mind, some not-so-innocent beings.

And where the hell were her rings, anyway? More proof, she  
thought somewhat hysterically, that this was some kind of  
weird alternate universe. Like that world where Willow's  
evil undead twin came from. That was it, Buffy decided,  
hopping from one foot to another as she finally slipped her  
sandals on. Somehow, she'd gotten sucked into a weird  
timeline. All she had to do was find this universe's Giles  
and he'd send her back home, he'd make everything right the  
way he always did.

It occurred to Buffy that she should be glad Riley was  
alive. And she was, she really, really was. There were times  
during her days now where she felt extremely guilty for  
being so happy, when really so much of it was because of  
him. During those fleeting moments of guilt, she convinced  
herself that Riley would =want= her to be happy.

Angel, the King of Long-Suffering Guilt and Angst, lent her  
his wisdom on such matters. It helped, talking to someone  
who really, truly understood exactly where she was coming  
from. He also helped her make necessary distinctions -- no,  
Riley wouldn't be dead if he hadn't known her, been close to  
The Slayer, but that didn't mean she was responsible for his  
death. Moreover, as Giles and Willow had both pointed out,  
he could have been dead over a year before had she not  
intervened on the Initiative situation.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she rounded the corner of Giles'  
building. There, in his spot, was that pretty little red  
sports car. The one he'd bought because it seduced him. The  
one he'd gotten rid of less than a year later.

Odd thing to have been affected, she thought, trying --  
unsuccessfully -- to shake off the extremely bad wiggins  
building in the pit of her stomach. With some trepidation,  
Buffy crossed the street and strode purposefully toward  
Giles' front door. Walking inside without knocking, she  
stopped short at the sight before her.

Full Scooby Gang assembled. Xander, Willow -- sans Spike,  
which was a rarity lately -- Anya, Tara -- shit, Tara's  
alive too? -- Giles, -- no Dawn, but that was hardly an  
unusual occurrence given Dawn's annoyance factor -- and  
Riley -- still with pulse -- all gathered around Giles'  
living room.

"Everyone's worried you're Faith again." Trust Anya to cut  
to the heart of the matter. Half the room ignored her, the  
other half sent her a silent glare.

"Buffy." Giles approached her warily, obviously having been  
told of her bizarre behavior that morning.

"It's me." Buffy paused, her nose wrinkling slightly. "I  
think."

"You kind of freaked out this morning," Riley reminded her.

"I left your place in a hurry. I hardly think that warrants  
you going all Linda Tripp on me."

"No one is Tripping here, Buffy. But you've gotta admit,  
it's not like you to just take off like that." Willow  
glanced toward Tara for support, which was readily given.

"I think everyone's just concerned," the other witch said  
tactfully.

Nervously, Buffy gauged the tone of the room. All of a  
sudden, she didn't feel like telling everyone the truth.  
What if they thought she was losing her mind? It was one  
thing to tell Giles, alone, which had been her plan. It  
might have taken awhile, but confiding in her Watcher had  
always been the best course of action Buffy could take.  
Announcing to the entire room that she was caught in some  
weird distortion of reality -- not of the good.

Anya was giving the entire situation her bored attention,  
and Buffy realized she hadn't seen that particular look on  
the ex-demon's face in quite some time. When she started  
looking around the room more carefully, more pieces started   
falling into place. There was no fire damage in Giles' kitchen  
from last February when the Kintok demons tried to smoke  
them out. The photograph Giles had placed on his mantle, the  
one of Buffy holding Des, wasn't there. Nor was the group  
photo they'd taken last Thanksgiving . . .

Xander still looked like Slacker Boy. Willow and Tara were  
holding hands. The small scar Giles acquired when he was  
knocked unconscious in the magic shop wasn't above his left  
eyebrow. =Riley and Tara were alive=. Angel, Cordelia,  
Wesley, and Gunn were nowhere to be found. Buffy was  
beginning to think they were in L.A., maybe putting the  
finishing touches on the hotel, or perhaps discovering Darla  
was back.

"Giles . . . I'm going to ask you something. It's going to  
sound crazy. Please, just answer me."

"Of course, Buffy," Giles murmured, concern etching across  
his forehead.

"What year is it?"

Everyone assembled just stared at her, but Buffy waited them  
out. The gnawing suspicion in her gut was turning into a  
full-fledged hunch.

"2000, Buffy. November 23nd, 2000."

"Thanksgiving Day," she mumbled, realization dawning.

"Buff? Yo, Earth to the Buffmeister."

"Oh, goddess, this is all my fault," Willow muttered,  
drawing everyone's attention to her. She turned to Tara. "If  
we hadn't done that spell . . . what if she's like this  
because of the spell?"

Tara's worried gaze was her only reply.

Ignoring them all, Buffy spun on her heel and exhibited zero  
coordination as she wrestled the door open. "I have to go.  
To L.A. I'll call when I get there."

"Buffy, I must protest--"

"Sorry, Giles, I can't argue with you right now, I promise  
as soon as I get back you can have all day to talk me out of  
going," she called over her shoulder as the door slammed  
behind her.

A quick stop-off at the ATM, then a brisk jog to the bus  
depot, and Buffy was on her way to L.A.

~  
Jai Guru De Va Om  
Nothing's gonna change my world  
Nothing's gonna change my world.  
~

Side B -- Electric Guitar Slideshow in E Minor

Angel entered the room slowly, Des curled against his chest.  
Buffy was watching him with more intensity than usual, and  
that was saying something. They'd always gazed at one  
another in the most obsessive, attentive manner. But this  
was different. Her gaze felt . . . odd against his skin.

He sat down beside her on the bed, shushing Des as she  
started to cry. "I think she wants you," he murmured, laying  
the baby down between them, trying to shake off the  
discomfort he'd felt. It was probably a reaction to the lack  
of sleep they'd both gotten lately.

Fascinated, Angel watched as Buffy reached her hand out and  
touched Des' chest with her palm as though she'd never done  
so before.

"She's still a little sick," he began carefully, "but I  
think the cold's almost run its course. Her immune system is  
. . ." He couldn't contain the stupid, prideful grin that  
crossed his face. "Amazing."

He raised his gaze to hers, and felt the shock and confusion  
coming off her in waves. The smile slowly dripped away from  
his expression. The way she was looking at him was  
unnerving. And the way she was looking at Des . . . Equal  
parts fascination, affection and terror flashed in her eyes  
when the baby raised her little fist up, and gripped a huge  
chunk of Buffy's hair.

"She's . . . ours." He could tell she'd tried to make it a  
statement, but her words sounded more like a question. Angel  
drew his brows together in confusion.

"Buffy, is something wrong?"

Her head started shaking immediately. "No," she answered  
hoarsely. Clearing her throat, she looked up at him, her  
eyes suspiciously moist. "Everything's . . . perfect."

He didn't entirely believe her, but he didn't know how to  
say so without sounding like he was grilling her. If there  
was one way to get on Buffy's bad side, it was "treating her  
like a criminal."

With a gentle touch, he ran his left hand down her upper  
arm, back and forth, trying to calm her. Her gaze followed  
the motion until he realized she was focused on something.  
His wedding band. Her head snapped around until she could  
see her own left hand, adorned with a matching white gold  
band. No engagement ring, for she wore her Claddagh on her  
right hand, and clunky diamonds interfered with her slaying.

"Buffy," he began gently, "I can be a little slow at times,  
but there's obviously something bothering you."

The love of his unlife sniffled forlornly, then moved down  
further on the bed, lying on her side, gloriously naked,  
face turned toward he and Des. Her fingers brushed  
soothingly over the baby's chest, and Angel mimicked her  
position, until they were looking one another in the eye  
over Des' tiny body.

"I don't remember this," she finally whispered.

"What?"

"This. You, me, our daughter -- who, by the way, I don't  
even know how we got, since vampires can't have children --  
this room, where do you want me to start?" Her voice had  
taken a semi-hysterical edge, and Des picked up on it. Angel  
watched as Buffy visibly tried to calm herself, holding back  
tears with supreme effort.

"Why don't we start at the beginning. What's the last thing  
you remember?"

"Going to bed." Her eyes cast downward, and he almost  
thought she looked ashamed. "With Riley."

A grimace crossed his face before he could stop it. It  
shouldn't bother him to think of Buffy's past with Riley,  
especially given all he owed the boy, but it still cut deep.  
When Buffy spoke of him, it was always fondly. Angel was  
used to that. But placing Riley in the present tense, after  
the year Buffy and Angel had spent together . . . it made  
some of the old wounds feel raw again.

He was snapped back to the present by her strong, tiny hand  
covering his. He forced himself to focus on it, to watch  
both their hands rise and fall on top of Des' chest, to  
remember that no matter what Buffy was going through right  
now, they'd both made their choices when she came to L.A., a  
year ago to the day. There'd never been any going back for  
the two of them, but that day, they made a conscious  
decision to stop standing still. They were going forward,  
and they were doing it together.

They were living in their future now, building it up day by  
day, laying a foundation, not only for their lives together,  
but Des' as well. The little miracle between them had one  
hell of a rocky road ahead, and Buffy and Angel had been  
entrusted to give her the best they had in them. One day,  
Des would be expected to stand at the gates of hell -- and  
fight until they were closed.

"Angel." Buffy's voice was fearful, and Angel cursed  
himself. His hand left hers and traced a path from wrist to  
elbow, then back again.

"I'm here. Sorry." He let her look into his eyes until she  
believed him. "What else do you remember?"

"It was . . . Thanksgiving. Almost." Her brows pulled  
together. "The night before, actually. We were all going  
over to Giles'. The Second Annual Scooby Gang Thanksgiving  
Extravaganza."

"I know." At her look, he elaborated, "I know because we're  
hosting the Third Annual at our house tonight."

Her eyes widened as she took that in. "So that means . . ."

"What a difference a year makes," he offered lightly,  
half-hearted in his delivery as his gaze was once again  
drawn to Des.

"What a difference," she agreed, sounding totally lost.

The room was filled with silence, and Angel found himself  
both unable and unwilling to break it. Everything he needed  
from this world was resting with him on his and Buffy's bed.  
He'd spent so many long, lonely nights without Buffy,  
without much of anything. The family of four he'd managed to  
build in L.A. had meant a lot to him, gave him confidence he  
hadn't realized he'd needed, but it still wasn't enough.

Dreaming of Darla had made him see exactly what it was he'd  
been missing, needing so much. That didn't mean he moved to  
correct the situation, but he stopped ignoring it. After  
he'd failed to stop Darla from rising -- an act he still had  
mixed feelings about -- the sensation he hadn't realized was  
still there became clear. The acute, aching sensation of  
missing Buffy.

They'd both been building new worlds without each other.  
Once, they would orbit each other, separate but still  
together. The sad state of affairs they'd reached a year  
previous finally caught up with them on Thanksgiving Day.  
Buffy had come face to face with Dracula, nearly lost her  
mother to a brain tumor, and Angel had been ignorant of it.  
Angel's sire, the woman whom he'd killed to save Buffy's  
life, had been brought back to un-life, and Buffy hadn't had  
a clue.

Things were so far away from how they were =supposed= to be,  
Angel had been stunned absolutely speechless when he  
realized just how far they'd drifted. Cordelia told him he'd  
started repressing back when Buffy walked in on him and  
Faith. Angel disagreed. He was sure he'd started repressing  
on that long drive back from Sunnydale. He'd been knee-deep  
in an extremely graphic fantasy involving Finn and a  
chainsaw when the depths to which he'd sunk hit him square  
in the face.

He'd stopped thinking about Buffy too often after that.  
Exercised enviable willpower and mental control by not even  
dreaming of her. Although, in retrospect, that probably made  
Darla's invasions all the more simple. But he hadn't had any  
other option. Thinking about Buffy meant he'd never be able  
to truly do the job he'd been called back from hell to do.  
And he had to make amends. It was his only shot at being  
free.

Everything he thought he "knew" had been cast aside, one  
cold, November night last year.

"What about the curse?"

Angel blinked, bringing his train of thought back to the  
present. Buffy was staring at him, looking rumpled and  
confused, a sexy look for her. Of course, he thought every  
look on Buffy was a sexy one.

"Gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone."

Her eyes narrowed again, and he started laughing. He  
couldn't help himself. She really did look cute when she was  
about to kill him in a fit of pure frustration.

"Commuted," he amended finally.

"What does taking an hour to get from the suburbs to your  
job have to do with it?"

Again, he grinned, because he found everything about her  
absolutely adorable. Even the things that irritated him,  
like her ability to mishear every word he spoke.

"Commuted. As in, The Powers That Be commuted my sentence.  
It was supposed to last until I became human again -- or  
died, although that wasn't high on my 'to do' list -- but  
when Des came along--"

"Woah, woah, woah -- flag on the play here." Her eyes had  
become deadly serious. "Human?"

Right. No memory of the last year. No long conversation  
where they talked about the prophecy he'd discovered about  
the vampire with a soul, no long, thoughtful dialogues about  
her origins and continuing mission to learn more about where  
she came from. He had to remember he wasn't talking to  
Buffy, his wife and partner -- he was talking to Buffy, his  
ex-girlfriend who was probably still a little ticked at him.

"Human. Eventually." He tried to smile. "Assuming, as I  
said, I live long enough. And keep Des safe. And keep  
helping people, eliminating the big bad things that come  
into this world . . . you know, day to day stuff."

"Right." As she nodded, he thought that maybe she really did  
accept things that easily. If anyone could . . .

"What do you mean, 'keep Des safe'? I mean, if she's ours,  
why do the PTB care if--"

"She's not ours." At the stricken look on Buffy's face, he  
hurried to explain. "Not biologically. I met her mother when  
she was pregnant. We misinterpreted one of Cordelia's  
visions and I killed this woman's champion. I took the  
demon's place before the tribunal, and earned mother and  
child immunity, until the girl came of age." Angel looked  
away for a moment, uncomfortable, as he always was when he  
remembered her death, this woman whose name he'd never even  
known, who'd given birth to this precious life beneath his  
hand.

Buffy moved up on the bed, so that her head lay against the  
pillow above Des. Again, he mimicked her, moving until their  
foreheads touched. He nearly sighed at the contact. He  
craved her touch the way his body craved blood.

"A higher power intervened," he continued, his voice  
lowering with sorrow, "and she died in childbirth. Whistler  
brought Des to me a day later. The duty of caring for her  
would have fallen to Kamal, but since I'd killed him . . ."

"Des was your responsibility until she came of age," Buffy  
murmured.

"The tribunal's ruling still stood. Des is under their  
protection until she comes of age. But there's still  
everything else, all the darkness that lives and breathes  
around us every day."

"But we manage," she reminded him, and he smiled, because  
even when she didn't remember, she was still the woman he  
loved.

"We manage," he agreed. "Her life . . . it's going to be  
hard."

"How hard?" A mother's fear reflected in her eyes, and they  
both glanced down at Des, comforted by the fact that she  
still slept peacefully.

"After the End of Days, after the final battles on earth, a  
new war will begin, this one fought not of the earth, nor of  
the heavens, but of hell, in the dimension all demons have  
existed in since they were driven from this plane," he  
quoted from memory. "The Warrior Child, fated from birth,  
will stand at the gates of hell and force them closed."

"And Des . . ."

"Is that warrior child," he confirmed. There was bitter  
understanding in Buffy's eyes, and he hated it. "The End of  
Days . . . that's our fight, Buffy. It's where we truly  
come of age. But what comes after . . . I'm afraid to even  
think of it."

"There's nothing we can do," she whispered. "No matter what,  
we can't protect her from this, from her destiny . . ." Her  
eyes found his. "Des?"

"Destiny Cordelia Summers." A crooked smile pulled at his  
mouth. "She made me do it."

"I suppose Cordy got to be godmother, too," she grumbled.

Angel stared intently at the pillow.

"Cordelia's godmother?! What about Willow?!"

"You picked Xander for godfather, I got Cordelia as  
godmother. Besides, I think Willow's judgment is impaired,"  
he muttered.

"Oh come on, she's just sleeping with Spike, it's not like  
she's actually in lo--"

They both froze. Buffy's entire body tensed as thoughts  
started forming in her head, like jigsaw puzzle pieces put  
together to form a whole.

"Willow's sleeping with Spike," she said slowly. "Has been  
for over a month. We've got bets on when it will end. You've  
got twenty bucks riding on whenever Drusilla blows into town  
again."

Angel started to smile.

"You let Xander be a groomsman at our wedding, so when he  
and Anya get married on Christmas Eve, he's asked you to be  
best man because he thought it was ooky to ask Giles, and Oz  
is in Tibet."

"If Anya hadn't balked, he would have asked Willow to be  
best man."

"My mother still doesn't like you, and oh God, Giles is  
having sex with that girl who's practically my age he got to  
run the magic shop on weekends!"

"She's thirty-two, Buffy," he stated dryly.

"Whatever. It's wrong. Parental type people shouldn't have  
sex. And if they do, they shouldn't tell their daughters, or  
their slayers that they're having it."

"If you'd knock before you walked into Giles' place you  
wouldn't know--"

"Angel, I remember!"

"Obviously not, considering you do it every time you visit  
Giles--"

"No, I mean . . . I =remember=. A year ago. When I came  
after you in L.A. It wasn't because I had a weird dream . .  
. it wasn't because I'd started thinking about you and  
couldn't stop. I . . . I remembered all this. Our life. Des.  
Everything."

He looked at her blankly.

Buffy sat up quickly and leapt off the bed. Angel glanced at  
Des, making sure she still slept soundly. When Buffy began  
to pace, oblivious to her own nudity, he positioned several  
pillows around the baby and rose, coming to stand directly  
in front of his agitated bride.

"I woke up with Riley that morning and I remembered. It was  
wrong. I was majorly wigged out and I went to Giles, and  
Riley had told everyone, and they were all there, staring at  
me like I was a big 'ole freak, and I got self-conscious and  
I ran, I mean =ran= all the way to the bus station, and I  
got on the bus--"

"Buffy, breathe," he interrupted gently, one hand gently  
resting on her shoulder.

"Angel." Her eyes filled with tears again. "I broke Riley's  
heart. We came back home, with Des, Cordy, Wes and Gunn in  
tow, and I told him my sacred duty had more catches than I'd  
anticipated."

"I know," he whispered, staring down at the ground.

"You don't. Because I never told you. Because I didn't even  
remember until now."

"What are you talking about?"

"The reason I was so sure, the reason I came after you and  
dragged you all home. I =remembered= -- I knew how it was  
supposed to be. All of it. And it didn't bother me as much,  
hurting Riley, because somewhere inside me, I knew I had to.  
Because if I hadn't, he wouldn't have gone back into the  
army. And if he hadn't gone back into the army, he wouldn't  
have been there when they took Des. And he couldn't have  
died saving her."

Angel tried to form a response, but he couldn't think of  
one. There was nothing to say to that, really. Once again,  
the silence grew between them until he couldn't stand it. He  
pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her mouth.  
She responded, and molded herself to him until they were  
flesh to flesh, as close as they could get.

Someone knocked on the door.

And walked in without waiting for an invitation.

"Come on, sleepy heads, you've got a long drive today and--"  
Xander flattened himself against the wall, flailing  
dramatically, "my eyes! my eyes!" he cried as he tried to  
protect his delicate sensibilities from the sight before  
him. Too late, he realized with a manic edge, the image of  
Buffy and Angel nakedly pressed against one another was  
forever burned into his subconscious. The horror . . . the  
horror.

"Xander, what's the rule," Buffy muttered, grabbing her  
robe, then tossing Angel his. When they were properly  
attired, she told Xander it was safe to look.

"Let us never speak of this again," Xander said  
emphatically. When both parties nodded readily, Xander  
released a pent up breath. "Fine. As I was saying, we've got  
Thanksgiving madness brewing. Wesley and Giles spent the  
morning convincing Anya that Thanksgiving wasn't a good time  
to practice her," he coughed, "culinary talents, so Willow,  
Giles, Dawn and Gunn are currently making like busy little  
bees in your kitchen." He paused. "Cordelia's making  
dessert. The only dessert we'll have."

Angel nodded. "We'll pick up cheesecake from that place in  
L.A."

Xander grinned, and rubbed his hands together like  
Montgomery Burns. "Excellent."

"Are you sure you want to do this? I can go alone." Angel  
directed this question at Buffy.

A reassuring smile was her answer. "I'm sure. I need to be  
the one that helps you bring her home."

"Which one of you is doing primary Des Duty?" Angel asked,  
walking to the closet to pull out clothes. Black, black, and  
a navy blue sweater.

"Anya."

They both stared at Xander.

"She'll be good," he promised them. "It's her way of  
practicing, so that when we have kids she won't scar them."

"Not of the comforting nature, Xand," Buffy stated  
pointedly. She sighed. "I've gotta go talk to Giles. Maybe  
he'll know what went on with Buffy's Little Breakdown  
earlier," she mumbled, turning on her heel and heading out  
the door.

"Don't interrupt him while he's mashing the peas," Xander  
warned her ominously. He turned to Angel. "Breakdown?"

"Let her tell it," he replied.

"Fair enough." Xander paused for a moment. "Still gonna be  
my best man?"

"Still trying to get Anya to switch to a daytime ceremony?"

Xander grinned.

~  
Sounds of laughter shades of earth are ringing  
Through my open views inciting and inviting me.  
~

Side A -- Needle Jumping

"Hi, Cordy."

Cordelia looked up from the filing she was =trying= to  
finish. God, she really hoped this office didn't get blown  
up, too, because re-doing these files was giving her a  
headache worse than the vision-inspired ones.

"Buffy. Hi, Buffy." Her gaze barely tracked the skinny  
blonde streaking past her, heading for the living quarters  
Angel occupied. "Bye, Buffy? Buffy, wait! He's busy--"

"With a new client, right, I remember, don't worry, he won't  
mind me dropping in," Buffy called over her shoulder,  
undaunted.

Feeling torn, Cordelia glanced between the stairs and her  
filing. It wasn't like Angel didn't have Intensive Buffy  
Training. Besides, they'd all been telling him to just bite  
the bullet and call the slayer in since last week. He'd gone  
into his "it'll just complicate her life, she's happy, we  
don't live in each other's worlds anymore" spiel, and  
Cordelia had started tuning him out. Honestly, for someone  
so old, with so much wisdom, Angel could be pretty dense.  
Wesley called it nobility, but to Cordelia, they were the  
same things.

Deciding the boss could handle himself, Cordelia grabbed her  
bag and put the filing on hold for the moment. It was time  
for Gunn's Sensitivity Session, anyway, and she was taking  
him to Griffith Park for an hour of doing absolutely nothing  
but lounging barefoot on the grass.

Pulling out her cell phone, she beeped Wesley with a "911"  
page. He'd arrive within the next twenty minutes, just in  
time to stop any carnage that might occur between the star  
crossed lovers. With any luck, they'll politely ask him to  
leave them alone because they're busy figuring out what to  
do with the agency's new "client."

Cordelia didn't stop grinning until she and Gunn were  
halfway to the park, and he asked her to, because it was  
creeping him out.

~

"Come on, you can't hate everything." A terrified pause.  
"Can you?"

Buffy quietly walked through Angel's open door. Inside, she  
saw him holding a baby to his chest, a bottle in his free  
hand, a near panicked expression on his face.

There was something she was supposed to know, something she  
was supposed to remember . . . something about destiny. Why  
had she come here? A dream, maybe? Yes, that must have been  
it. Angel had appeared in one of her dreams and she'd had an  
undeniable urge to see him, face to face. Obviously, she'd  
come at a bad time.

As she was about to leave, Angel's head snapped up and their  
gazes locked.

"Buffy."

"Angel."

Biting the bullet, she stepped further into the room until  
she stood beside him, one hip propped against his table. He  
kept staring at her, and she kept staring at him.  
Frustrated, Buffy turned her gaze toward the baby, noting  
its displeased expression.

"Cute kid," she muttered.

"She's . . ."

"Just visiting?"

"She's my responsibility," he finally said, turning away  
from her, bouncing gently as he walked, trying to soothe the  
baby.

Buffy was frustrated with herself. What the hell was wrong  
with her? She'd had such a good feeling about coming here  
the entire bus ride. She'd been overflowing with confidence  
as she flew through the lobby. One look at Angel, up close  
and personal, and she froze! It was as though she were  
sixteen again, awkward and nervous, desperately wanting him  
to kiss her.

"Your responsibility," she slowly repeated. "Well, if you  
were anything but what you are, I'd ask how you could be so  
irresponsible, but I'm thinking she isn't the result of  
unsafe sex."

"Her mother . . .it's a long story."

"So give me the cliff notes."

Angel was quiet for a moment, absently patting the baby's  
back, gathering his thoughts. She'd watched him do it a  
thousand times, although normally there was less patting,  
and more pacing. Finally, he began to speak:

"Her mother is dead. She has a big destiny ahead of her.  
There are a lot of big, bad things out there that would like  
her to be unprepared for it. That can't happen. There's no  
one else, and The Powers That Be have chosen me to be her  
guardian until she comes of age."

"So you're like . . . her adoptive father."

He looked at her again, and he was almost smiling.  
"Something like that."

"You're going to train her, aren't you? The same way Giles  
trained me."

He just looked at her. The answer was in his eyes, and Buffy  
couldn't help feeling a kinship with the precious cargo he  
held so gently. It isn't fair, little girl, she thought. The  
fates were never fair to either one of us.

"A lot of things in my life are different now."

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the  
melancholy-rage-at-the-fates mood Buffy had briefly slipped  
into. When they did, she almost smiled.

"Obviously."

Glancing down at the baby, then back at her, he smiled --  
dare she think it? -- boyishly. "No, not just Des."

"Des?"

"Destiny. I uh, we -- Cordy, Wes and I -- took a vote.  
Destiny won. It seemed . . ."

"I like it," she interrupted gently. They both paused for a  
moment, unsure what to say next, not wanting things to  
become tense again. "So, what's different in your day to  
day?"

"Cordelia had a vision shortly before Des arrived. It hinted  
at her coming, as well as a few . . . other things."

"Like? Such as? For instance? Spit it out, Angel." So   
patience wasn't one of her virtues. She had other virtues.   
Better virtues. More virtuous virtues.

"I'm supposed to go back to Sunnydale," he explained in a  
rush.

Buffy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried  
again. "Oh," was all she seemed to be able to manage.

"Oh," he repeated dumbly, a look that was almost  
disappointment crossing his face.

Well, what the hell did he expect? Buffy felt herself getting   
angry. Did he think that she'd just wrap her arms around him,   
and say 'thank God you're finally coming home,' while all was   
forgiven and they'd figure out how to deal with all the reasons   
he'd left her in the first place?

"I never wanted to leave you."

Again, his words took a moment to penetrate.

"I never wanted you to leave," she replied, her anger  
melting away as quickly as it came. It wasn't fair to be  
angry with him, not when everything he'd done had been for  
her, for what would give her the best life had to offer.

"I hated . . . I =hate= being away from you. Even when we  
couldn't be together . . . it was hard, but it was worth it.  
Being able to see you, touch you, talk to you. I . . . I've  
missed that. More than I can say."

"That might just be the most you've ever said to me at once  
about how you feel," she murmured, that damnable hope that  
had caused her more pain than she could remember starting to  
flare up once again.

"Buffy, I can't lose my soul," he blurted out.

"I know," she said sadly. "It would kill you to become a  
monster again, to have to carry--"

He shook his head. "No." He sighed, and gently placed Des in  
a small bassinet that sat atop the table. "I don't mean 'Oh  
God, I can't lose my soul, the guilt will consume me.' I  
mean 'I can't lose my soul, it's a part of me, and will  
remain so as long as my body walks this earth.'"

They stared at each other once again. Buffy couldn't  
possibly process what he'd just told her, so instead she  
focused on what he was wearing. Or wasn't wearing. There  
were pants, which was of the good, but there was no shirt,  
which was equally of the bad and the good. And the fact that  
there was any good in it just made it all the more bad.

"How . . .when . . .how?" Sentence structure, Buffy,  
sentence structure!

"Whistler told me. It's a . . . gift, from The Powers That  
Be. Apparently there's fertile ground for perfect happiness  
when you're raising a child, and they can't risk me losing  
my soul. Not now that I have to watch over her." Again, his  
head shook slightly. "It's not important right now. I'll  
tell you the whole long story later. First, I think we need  
to--"

"We don't need to talk." This is right, Buffy thought,  
something positive and sure she'd never felt before burning  
brightly. "Not right now, anyway." Moving toward him, she  
placed a gentle hand on his chest, directly over his  
un-beating heart. "Later," she whispered.

"Later," he echoed, something scared and unsure in his tone.

That won't do, she thought, stretching her body until she  
could wrap both her arms around his shoulders. Her face  
pressed against his throat, and she felt something akin to a  
sob well up inside.

"Angel," she whimpered, and he snapped out of his paralysis,  
his arms crushing her body to his, his face burrowing into  
her hair. "Oh, God, Angel."

He was coming home. They both were.

~  
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million  
suns,  
It calls me on and on across the universe  
~

Side B -- Last Track

"You sure you're up to this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You haven't seen her yet."

"I talked to her. We've talked."

"On the phone. It's different to see someone, to look into  
the eyes of the person who hurt you and still forgive them."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Maybe a bit."

"I see her."

Angel looked away from his wife's face, focusing where her  
gaze currently rested. A humbler, more frightened creature  
never walked this earth, he thought as the only other girl  
in all the world with the strength and skill to kill the  
vampires walked the last few feet that would lead her to  
freedom.

Faith looked different from the last time Buffy saw her.  
That made things easier, she decided as she reached down to  
squeeze Angel's hand. If she could separate the Faith that  
hurt her so badly, with the Faith that stood before her now,  
they might have a real chance to make this work.

The two women moved forward until barely a foot stood  
between them, Angel's hand still tightly clutched in  
Buffy's. Close as they were, neither seemed able to take the  
final step, and Angel knew this wasn't something he could do  
for either of them, much as he wanted to enfold Faith in a  
hug and promise she would never do without family again.

Faith already knew where he stood. It had to be Buffy.

"Hey."

"Hey," Faith replied, looking wary and happy at the same  
time.

"You cut your hair," Buffy noted.

"A little," Faith answered, nervously fingering her black,  
shoulder length hair.

"It's nice."

A lengthy silence stretched on, and just as Angel was about  
to reluctantly break it, something cracked. Faith's lower  
lip began to quiver, and her eyes became liquid.

"Oh, God, B, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cried. Lightning  
fast, Buffy enfolded Faith in an embrace, shushing her. The  
moment she felt the other slayer's arms, Faith began to sob,  
her words barely intelligible, the only discernible thing,  
her sorrow.

"It's okay," Buffy whispered, her mind only now processing  
that it was true. Another thing she realized was that  
separating Faith wasn't going to work.

The woman she held sobbing in her arms was the same who'd  
saved her ass numerous times, the same who'd tried to steal  
Angel's soul, slept with her boyfriend, and betrayed every  
kindness Buffy had ever shown her. Faith had helped her,  
healed her, killed her, destroyed her, and made her stronger  
for it.

And Buffy forgave her.

"It's okay," she repeated, glad for Angel's gentle hand on  
her back. "Everything's okay."

~

Bringing Faith home had been easier than expected.

Everyone gathered at Buffy and Angel's house had been knee  
deep in Thanksgiving preparations. Anya had been fussing  
over Des, Cordelia trying to bake some elaborate chocolate  
coconut concoction, and Giles complaining about how they  
were all doing it wrong. Individual conversations spread  
throughout the room had come to a dead halt as the three of  
them entered the house. All eyes had been on Faith.

Spike had been kind enough to break the tense silence with a  
few diplomatic words.

"Look, it's the Poof, the Slayer, and the Psychopath. Can we  
eat now?"

Willow had gently admonished him.

"Cretin," Willow muttered, smacking him upside the head.

Anya, of course, had her priorities straight.

"I've given the child food and changed its diaper, but it's  
still crying. Make it stop."

Her tone had been so genuinely panicked, Xander had of  
course been moved to reassure her.

"Geez, you can't even take care of one kid for a few hours?  
You'll have a nervous breakdown if we ever have kids!"

Naturally, she'd taken issue with that statement.

"What do you mean if?"

At that point, Wesley had moved in between the two of them,  
his gaze riveted to Faith. The fallen slayer was clearly a  
wrong word away from cracking. Once assured Xander and  
Anya's tiff was on hold, Wesley crossed the room to stand  
before Faith.

"You're well, I trust," he'd inquired politely.

"Yeah," she'd answered. "I'm much better. Now."

He'd considered her answer for a moment. And then he'd  
smiled, a genuine, warm smile. "Then do come in and sit  
down. We've enough food to nourish all the armies of hell."

"But they weren't invited," Buffy had interjected as Wesley  
put an arm around Faith. Then she'd gone totally still.  
"They weren't, right?"

And that was all it took. Those who were putting the  
finishing touches on dinner had gone back to doing so, Angel  
had scooped Des away from Anya, and Willow had pulled Buffy  
aside for a moment.

"Giles told me about . . .um . . ." she had looked around,  
"the incident," she whispered.

Amused, Buffy had nodded. "I figured he'd blab to the whole  
gang sooner or later. After the whole Dawn thing he's been  
against keeping anything a secret."

"Um, speaking of secrets . . ." Willow had definitely been  
wearing Guilty Face.

"Will . . ."

"I sort of . . . uh . . . did a spell. With Tara. A year  
ago. It was supposed to give you happy dreams, of your  
future . . . and instead, from what I now know, that I  
didn't know then, so I didn't tell you, cause I didn't  
know--"

"Will!" Buffy had interrupted impatiently.

"I think I switched you. Your consciousness. Buffy 2000 and  
Buffy 2001. But you didn't stay switched for long. Say, a  
few hours at most. And now you're back. All un-switched. And  
really, there's no harm, cause look how well it all turned  
out."

Willow had smiled hopefully. Buffy had had to admit her  
friend was right.

Guilty conscience or no, Willow still refused to be Faith's  
best friend, but, as Buffy had pointed out, if she were  
willing to sleep with Spike, surely she could break bread  
with Faith.

Cordelia's dessert didn't turn out as bad as everyone  
feared, but most of them ate cheesecake anyway. After  
dinner, Buffy insisted everyone gather in the living room  
for a group picture. Xander tried to convince Willow to  
leave Spike out of it, but no one -- Buffy included --  
agreed with him.

As a gesture, Faith sat between Spike and Angel. To bridge  
things, Buffy suspected, taking a seat on Angel's other  
side, Giles to her left, Des tucked securely in her  
'grandfather's' arms. Dawn took it upon herself to sit at  
Buffy's feet, her arm over Angel's knee, and Buffy couldn't  
quite help a momentary glare. Angel running a fingertip  
along the curve of her bare spine improved her disposition.

They were a large group now, and most of them would be  
dispersing in a few hours to attend festivities held by  
their respective clans.

For now, though, they sat in relative peace, taking a family  
portrait Giles would hang on his wall, as was their new  
tradition.

Of course, a few moments after the flashbulb went off,  
assassins hired by a rather nasty group of demons that  
looked like creepy Smurfs, headed by Darla and Drusilla,  
started launching fiery arrows through the windows . . .

But really, that was just another day in the life.

~  
Jai Guru De Va Om  
Nothing's gonna change my world  
Nothing's gonna change my world. -- Lennon/McCartney,  
"Across the Universe"  
~


End file.
